


true north

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, World Juniors, thanks! i'm crying!, wake me up when it's 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 09:48:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: Team Canada loses in overtime.





	true north

**Author's Note:**

> so.............that horted
> 
> also, unimportant: no one’s corrected me on this yet, but i’d like to mention that i do kno ian scott ended up taking the spot as mikey’s back up but i…..live in an alternate universe :) this is just my guilty pleasure ship dkshdkjs

“This is it, boys,” someone says, seconds before overtime. 

Jaret gets fondly shoved because if anything, he’s just a little jittery. It’s all on his face. “Let’s make it one to remember,” he says, and gets a round of cheers.

 

 

The second the goal horn sounds, Jaret’s hands start shaking. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t fucking _feel_ , and the entire arena spins like it's collapsing around him. He swears he could hear his name if someone whispered it, everything around him swirling into a heavy buzz that sounds like practically anything. The Finns cheering, the crowd, the buzzer, it’s all identical.

Jaret’s head is a mess of disbelief, confusion, denial—nothing make _sense_. He’s watching a team celebration that was nearly them. It’s just. A broken stick, a staggering puck, and their chances of even placing wash down the drain. 

Mikey’s bent over on the ice, and Jaret wants to go up to him but he can’t find the strength, isn’t sure just how to get over something he’s been waiting for for fucking ever. It feels horrible. Like his legs would give underneath him if he even tried to stand. 

He’s always wondered what it felt like to be the team going home, when he’d watch WJC from his TV back home and cheer loudly, ignorant of the camera panning over devastated faces. 

This is it.

 

 

Ty’s staring up at the ceiling when Jaret walks into their room, blank eyes focused on it like he’s trying to burn a hole through to the top floor. Jaret decides not to say anything, refusing to pack up before the morning. It’d be a lot easier if he just let the ache wear off. The ache in his muscles, the one in his chest, the tight coil in his stomach that jolts every time he thinks back to that goal. He just needs to ease off.

He knows his phone’s blowing up with texts and he _knows_ there’ll be stacks of articles out there piling up talking about Canada’s disappointment of a team. Their failure to even cop a bronze on home ground. It should’ve been easier, they were practically there. 

Jaret ends up slipping into his sweats and a thin shirt without exchanging a single word with Ty, who’s rolled over and thumbing through his phone now. It’s not a great idea, to immediately hop onto it and start responding to texts with the loss fresh in his mind, but Jaret doesn’t deter him. He doesn’t deserve that. 

He gracelessly shoves his slides on and sticks a few coins into his pocket in the hopes of grabbing something from the vending machine. 

Ty spares him a passing glance and just as Jaret’s about to leave, he asks him, “you gonna be back tonight?” 

Jaret thinks it over. He doesn’t need to, but it’s at least courteous to give it a second of consideration. “No, I’m—if Matt takes me in. It depends.” 

He doesn’t say anything immediately and Jaret can feel the muscles in his shoulders tensing up. He can’t see Ty’s face from the door, so he isn’t sure if much more than sorrow is flashing over his it. But.

“Okay,” he says, after a minute. “See you, J.”

Jaret blows out a little breath, tells him goodbye, and clicks the door shut behind himself as gently as he can. 

The walk to the vending machine is quiet, and the only sounds in the hallway as he’s pushing buttons to pop out the candy bar are the individual beeps. It’s eerie almost, if it wasn’t in a fully lit area.

He’s not even sure if he’s going to eat it, but it’s comforting at least, to know he’s got some sugar in his pocket if he starts feeling bitter later on in the night. If Matt all but slams the door in his face when he approaches his room. 

So—three knocks does the trick, the door opens to Barrett looking exhausted, shadows under his eyes and the thin lines around his mouth wrought deep. It almost looks like it takes him a minute to process that Jaret’s even there, and then, “oh, you’re looking for Matt,” he says. 

Jaret nods his head slowly and Barrett shrugs. “I get it,” he adds. “I’m gonna room with Morgan tonight, then.” He’s looking mostly at Jaret, but his voice is loud enough that he could be talking to Matt. “Just give me a second, you can come in.” 

Jaret walks past him when Barrett holds the door just a little wider open, and gives him a friendlier smile than he thought he’d be able to muster. It’s small, but it’s there, and seeing the way it eases Barrett a little makes everything all the more worth it. 

Matt looks up just as they round the corner, and he’s sitting on his bed with messy hair and eyes just barely tinged red. Jaret can feel his heart clench in his chest and he wants to reach out and touch, doesn’t know how to make this better any other way. 

Matt’s lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but Barrett blurts out a rushed, “please keep in mind that I’m still here.” He pulls a blanket off his bed along with his phone and charger, scraping all of it together. On any other occasion, Jaret would laugh, but he can’t manage much more than that same smile. 

Jaret waits to so much as move from his spot until Barrett shuts the door behind himself, and even after the click it’s a little hard to bring himself back to reality again. He’s here for a reason. They _lost_. 

The first thing he does is set the candy bar on a table, and just that takes more than enough out of him. He tries to breathe. It’s still a little hard.

Jaret walks up to the edge of Matt’s bed and the sigh he lets out feels like it weighs a ton. 

Matt’s eyes are carefully cataloguing his face. “Babe,” he says, and holds his hand out for Jaret. 

Jaret isn’t sure if he’s supposed to respond, so he just takes Matt’s hand and crawls onto the bed. “This sucks.” 

Matt frowns and Jaret shifts to lie down next to him.

“I know,” he says, and Jaret rests his hand against Matt’s jaw when he follows suit. They’re both lying next to each other and Jaret gets the perfect angle of all the hurt that wells up on Matt’s face at just the thought of the game. 

He doesn’t want to talk about it, he just wants to make this better. But he doesn’t know how, he—

“Kiss me,” Matt says softly, this little flicker of hope in his eyes. Like this is their first time. And that’s enough.

Jaret props his weight onto his elbow, moving so he’s got a better angle, and helps Matt onto his back before leaning in. 

Matt threads his fingers through his hair while they’re kissing, and it’s slow and easy like it’s nothing more than a kiss. But Jaret can feel the weight of breaking Canada’s heart on his shoulders and he’s trying his best just to wipe that away. Because if he could forget anything, it would be the faces of countless fans in the stands who’d come to see them. And they’d let them down. They let themselves down. 

Matt bites his lip like he can feel Jaret’s thoughts trailing off. Jaret can’t help but make a small noise into his mouth, trying to get in a little deeper. It’s nice and easy, when they get into this rhythm, and Jaret just wants to kiss, and kiss, and forget. 

Really, he isn’t sure when he ends up falling asleep in Matt’s arms, when a blanket gets thrown over him and all he can do is cling to Matt, but it makes everything just a little easier. 

 

 

When the morning comes, Jaret’s eyes aren’t puffy like he thought they’d be. He fell asleep last night before he could start crying, but he still has to get out of bed to pack, despite being all too warm to want to leave Matt at all. Too warm to leave _Vancouver_.

Matt stirs when he shifts and it’s hard for Jaret to feel anything but want when he blinks his eyes open. They’re hazy with sleep, the green in his iris is just that much brighter when Jaret’s this close, adorned with soft hazel flecks. 

“Matt,” he says quietly, and tucks his face into the side of his neck. “Matty.” 

“‘m right here.” His voice is soothing, nothing but light edges, and Jaret loves everything about it. It’d be so easy just to stay here. But he _can’t_. 

Jaret decides not to say much more, in fear of just what might come out, and tips his chin up to kiss Matt, letting him steal the breath from his lungs. It’s not as soft as last night, even if it’s still fuelled by the same loss. It’s just a speck more desperate and this time when Jaret lets out a breathy little groan, Matt tangles his fingers up in his hair. 

“Fuck, oh my god,” Jaret says and he feels like he’s suffocating under the blankets, Matt rolling up on top of him with the weak sunlight catching on his lashes. 

“Jaret, can I—I want to.” His hand lands on the waistband of his sweats, asking for silent permission, and Jaret sets everything else aside to whisper out a hurried _yes, please_ , watching Matt sink lower.

He has to shove the blanket off, just to get a view at least somewhat clearer than watching his head bob under the sheets, and it’s hard not to react too much when Matt gets his mouth around him. He tries to get up on his elbows while he’s watching Matt work his mouth, his cheeks hollowed, and Jaret could fucking _cry_. 

His eyes flick up, meeting his gaze, and Jaret squeezes the back of his neck just slightly, lifting his hand to settle it on his head moments after. 

“Matty, your mouth,” he breathes out, his hips twitching up, chasing the heat of Matt’s lips. “ _Please, please, please_ , just like that.” 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Matt lets him fuck his mouth, finishing against his face after some time with a little groan. Matt crawls back up to kiss him, come on his cheek, and he doesn’t make much of a move to wipe it off. Especially after seeing the way Jaret’s eyes fixated to it, bright and unmistakeable against his skin. 

Jaret gets him back, settling between his thighs and tentatively pressing his lips to the tip of Matt’s dick just to revel in the way he tosses his head back. The _fuck_ he mutters is nearly silent. His legs spreading a little wider, making room for Jaret, and it works.

It’s familiar, when Matt comes down his throat with his name on his tongue, and Jaret gets the way his pulse jumps at that as a reward. Or when Matt pulls him up and kisses him until Jaret can really forget, until all he’s thinking is _Matt, Matt, Matt_. 

They don’t go back to sleep, because they have to pack, but it’s easier for Jaret to head back to his room loose-limbed with a clear head. 

This isn’t the end. It’s just WJC, not the rest of his life. The rest of his life is a chest he’s barely cracked the surface of. 

 

 

The hotel lobby is where the hardest good-bye’s come, where everyone splits ways. Jaret gets to go back home and he’s not going to see Ty until next season, so he pulls him in close and doesn’t let go until he has to. Until Ty gets all but dragged away.

Jaret gives everyone else hugs and farewells that feel equally bitter rolling off his tongue, all until he lands on Matt. Matt who he doesn’t know _how_ to let go, because holding onto him is all he knows, desperate just to be by his side. 

He knows he has to leave this, that a relationship that flourished is going to turn long distance until they can both crack LA’s roster, but Jaret knows he can wait. If it’s Matt he’s waiting for, he’s got all the time in the world.

“You’re not gonna let this get you down, yeah?” Matt’s finger lands gingerly under Jaret’s chin, tipping his head up. “Not gonna worry about a silly tourney?”

Jaret nods his head before he can help it. Because he can do this. He can get over it. “Yeah,” he says, and tries not to think about WJC, about a broken OT period, about a shot that was just too quick to save. He swallows it all back. “I won’t.” 

They all wanted gold, but that’s water under the bridge now, a lost cause. And it’ll get better, it’ll get easier to bear with. Jaret knows it. Matt does too, clearly. 

“Good,” he says, and plants a kiss high on Jaret’s cheekbone. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“I’m gonna miss you more,” Jaret tells him, and then glances at the rest of the lobby. “I’ll score one for you. Back home.”

Matt smiles. “My next shutout is pretty much yours.”

Jaret huffs out a little laugh. 

 

 

The trip is difficult.

It’s hard to keep his mind clear, it’s even harder to keep his focus trained on just the inflight movie, especially when he’s still got unopened texts waiting on his phone. Or articles that’ll criticize their flaws like they aren’t just _kids_. And Jaret knows it’s there. It’s all there.

What else is there is Matt’s contact in his phone, and the snap he opens from him that’s just him cheesing at the camera with _Jaret’s_ candy bar, the airport’s geofilter under his chin. The caption is nothing but hearts and Jaret smiles. For the first time in a while, it’s genuine. 

He screenshots it and sends something back, trying not to look too tired. 

And, this—he thinks—he can do.


End file.
